


Trophy

by castielsstarr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Fingering, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Come Eating, Cunnilingus, Feminization, Gore, M/M, Necrophilia, Panty Kink, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, in the most technical sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr/pseuds/castielsstarr
Summary: The Winchester brothers get their needs met by women in the towns they travel through. Dean needs a good lay. Sam needs to kill.





	1. White Tank Top

**Author's Note:**

> First off, please read the fucking tags. There is murder in here.
> 
> Holy fuck, you guys. I cannot believe I finally finished this. This has been at least six months in the process and I'm so glad to be done. It didn't come out quite the way I wanted it, but I like it pretty ok, and I hope you like it, too. It's not my best work and I'm already aware of that, and this fic is definitely not for everyone, but I appreciate those who will take the time to read. Y'all are fucking awesome.
> 
> This has been edited by me, but it hasn't been beta'd. All mistakes are my own fault.

The blonde was from Massachusetts. Her hair was over halfway down her back, pin straight and shining bright. Her eyes when they first met Sam’s were untrusting, but they softened the longer she chatted with both of them. The bar was dimly lit, but it was enough to make her white teeth blinding when she opened her mouth. She smiled a lot—Sam hated it. Wanted to break her teeth and watch her gums bleed for the way she was looking at Dean. He wouldn’t, though. He’d behave, so they both could have their fun at the end of the night.

She liked to giggle when Dean spoke. A flirty yet unattractive sound that couldn’t decide if it resonated in her chest or her nose. It was Sam’s nails on a chalkboard, but he sat there smiling back at her, sipping his beer in silence. If he spoke, he was sure it would be the end of the line, so he had to be careful. His brother needed this. Soon. Tonight.

Dean had been antsy, pacing, all morning. Like an addict needing his next fix, and wasn’t that what he was? He wouldn’t sit still, biting his fingernails, talking to himself. Planning, planning, planning. Sam found it funny because what did Dean really need to plan for? All he had to do was charm them and get them out of the bar. Sure, sometimes a little bit of his strength was necessary, but that was it. He just had to enjoy himself and fuck them while Sam took care of the rest.

Her hesitance gave way when Dean mentioned their dead mother and gave her a kicked puppy look from underneath those girlish eyelashes. His head ducked to the side, toward Sam, as a reminder to play his part—change his facial expression to fit the mood Dean was trying to set because a fake smile wouldn’t garner pity in this situation the way a frown would. The same ploy time and again, and it always worked. None of these girls could ever resist the chance to heal the two broken boys of Lawrence.

As always, she said yes when Dean asked if they wanted to get out of there and go walk around for a while. “It’s such a nice night and you’re such good company.” He put on a slight drawl, just for her—northerners never could resist a southern gentleman—and she readily agreed. “You’re fine with my baby brother hanging out with us, right?” His smile was genuine and he ruffled Sam’s floppy, brown hair—a gesture that spoke volumes, but only between the two of them. 

“Of course,” she said. Dean, the least observant of the two, didn’t notice her smile tick down just the slightest at the left corner of her mouth. She wanted Dean—wanted to spend time alone with him, really get to _know_ him—but there was a “nineteen”-year-old boy standing in her way. Regardless, they’d hooked her.

Just like the other ones from the other places, other states, practically other lifetimes, she’d soon realize that Sam was not between them. She wanted Dean and Dean wanted her, and his big brother always got what he wanted. They both did.

She didn’t say much to Sam directly as they walked, but she acknowledged him if he spoke. That was ok with him. He didn’t mind being allowed to stay quiet for bursts of time and watch Dean work his magic. God, what magic it was, too. His words were whiskey smooth, that touch of a burn leaving their girls warm and wanting more.

It didn’t take long to get her back to the motel room and even less time to get her clothes off. Her thin tank top was on the floor before Sam could close the door behind them. She didn’t question that he was still with them—not that she could really get a word in edgewise with the way that Dean was shoving his tongue down her throat. Sam didn’t like that his older brother wanted to kiss them, too, but he didn’t have it in him to start that battle. They both got what they wanted and the means in which they got there were inconsequential.

Dean’s hands were sweeping her unhooked bra off her shoulders before Sam even took his place on the second bed. He always watched from over here in the beginning unless they beckoned him to join. It wasn’t often that they did, but there were one or two adventurous girls who wanted him, too. Brothers who were willing to do things with each other were a fascination for these women. This one, so far, hadn’t shown an interest in him.

They fell tangled together onto Dean’s bed, his fingers dipping into the front of her open shorts while she fumbled to get his belt off. They were a mess of limbs and hands, and eventually they would figure out who needed to be where. His hand slid deeper into her panties—a simple purple cotton with a fine lace trim—and she moaned softly the moment Dean’s fingers entered her. The man could get a girl off in a minute flat, but he knew how to toe the line between frantic rush and slow torture.

With her weight at an estimate of no more than 120 soaking wet, it was easy for Dean to flip her onto her back while his fingers were still deep inside of her. She squealed and smacked his shoulder playfully before dropping her hands to his hips, pushing jeans and boxers down to get his cock free. They always gasped when they saw it—amazed by the thickness, the heavy weight of him when they would stroke him for the first time, how wet he was already, just for them. The excitement came from what he knew was going to happen to them, not whoever was sprawled beneath him for the night.

Her shorts came off, and Sam could feel himself starting to harden in his boxers. It wasn’t for her or the little gasps she made as Dean lapped at her nipples, but for the knife he knew was hidden beneath the mattress he was sitting on. It wouldn’t be much longer now, the impatience making him itch.

Sam hadn’t been paying attention—caught up in his own head for a moment—but they had switched places again, the woman now straddling Dean’s waist, starting to lower herself onto his cock. His brother often said that his dick wasn’t as pretty and perfect as Sam’s, but he knew it wasn’t possible. Spearing her open the same way it did him on the nights where Dean would fuck him into the mattress.

He wasn’t paying attention to them, not really. Watching and hearing, but not truly seeing and listening. There were moans and grunts and slick noises—they blended so well that Sam wasn’t sure who made them. Her voice had gone breathy and high-pitched, signaling how close she was. Ultimately, he didn’t care about her happiness. Dean liked when they came on his cock, but it wasn’t a necessity, and Sam didn’t care one way or the other, so long as he and his brother got what they needed.

With head cleared, he was slow to reach under the edge of the mattress and grip the thin hilt of the knife, withdrawing it and placing it against his thigh. It wasn’t anything fancier than a kitchen knife—they’d learned not to use their own from the couple times they had to dispose of some of their good pieces. She could see it if she only looked, but she was too focused on the way Dean felt thrusting into her.

“Close, so close.” She whimpered.

“Yeah, me too.”

Dean wasn’t close enough, though, Sam knew. This was where he needed the help. This was why Sam stuck around.

She was halfway through her orgasm when he moved into position behind her. Dean had intentionally kept them toward the end of the bed, making it easier for Sam to do his part. Those green eyes made contact with his—begging, pleading to give him what he wanted, to let him come.

There was a sharp intake of breath from all three of them when Sam’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and chest, and the knife slid home between her ribs. He was careful—in right above the bone to avoid hitting the vein and muscle that ran along the underside of each. Air rush in to fill the space when the knife was removed. Their little toy was too scared to scream.

Sam switched the knife to his opposite hand, duplicating the injury on her other side. He had never tested the length of the blade on a human before, but he hoped it was enough to puncture her lungs. The twin incisions were allowing air into her chest cavity, which could have been enough to kill her anyway, but the rips in the lungs were going to expedite the process. With both lungs collapsing, it wouldn’t be long before she suffocated.

Sam needed to feel that final beat of their heart, so he kept his hands on the girls while they died. That last breath was his sanctuary. His own form of release.

The blonde’s breathing dwindled to short, choked gasps, her nails raking over Dean’s chest, drawing blood. Marks from the previous girl had completely healed earlier in the week and Sam knew they needed to be replaced. The collection of thin silver scars everywhere on his body, those were his trophies.

The knife was forgotten beside them on the bed, both of Sam’s hands on her, feeling her chest heave and her heart race. It wouldn’t be long for her or Dean—he was fucking her rough and fast, eyes half closed and each exhale shaking. Everything about him was frantic, shivering in anticipation of that last moment that was going to send him over the edge.

Her breathing was gone, but the heartbeat was still a faint thrumming in her chest. Dean shouldn’t be able to tell when she were gone without his hands on her chest, but somehow he always knew. Maybe it was something in their eyes, a finality that Sam couldn’t distinguish, but they had to be well and truly dead for the older Winchester to enjoy them fully.

“Fuck, _shit_ , Sammy, she’s gone. _Ohhh_!”

His hips stopped pounding up into her, Sam still holding her upright as his older brother unloaded into her. What used to be her. It was a very fine line, but he had felt that final beat moments before Dean started coming—didn’t have to tell him that she was gone. It had bleated, pathetic and weak, under the palm of his hand where his skin still sang with the sensation. He’d feel it for hours after this—wouldn’t be able to wash it away.

With his cock still in his jeans, Sam reached a hand inside to stroke it. Sometimes he needed to come while they were still there and couldn’t wait until he had Dean home and cleaned up. It all depended, but he was close enough that it wasn’t more than ten short strokes before he was spilling inside the material. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, still holding her upright on Dean’s cock, as they both panted through their orgasms.

Once he was able to settle, Dean took over, rolled her back onto the bed and pulled out. There was a bit of come leaking out of her, onto the bed sheets, and if they both hadn’t looked so tired, Sam was sure Dean would have played with her a bit longer. Instead, he started picking up his clothes and pulling them on.

“C’mon. Let’s get the gasoline from the trunk.”

Sam’s job, as always after these things, was to pile all of the woman’s scattered clothes on the bed next to her along with the knife and start emptying the tank of gas and the canister of lighter fluid around the room. They stayed at cash-only motels with no security cameras for specifically this reason. Torch the room and run.

They took a moment—they always did while wrapped in the pungent scent of gas—to connect with each other. Dean would lean down to Sam, holding his face in both hands, and kiss him softly. Like he was precious. Like he was loved.

Like they hadn’t just murdered someone.

It was the last moment they got to relish in it before striking a match and throwing it in. Sam liked the heat of full flames on his skin, but often times he wasn’t able to take the opportunity to feel it. They needed to keep doing this, so they needed to not get caught.

The room was in flames now and they were climbing into the car. Baby was always good at a quick getaway.

Dean payed no attention to the thin white shirt tucked into the back of Sam’s pants when they left.


	2. Black Leather Boots

The brunette was from Arizona. Too much of the drugs and rock and roll lifestyle, but that was probably what drew Dean to her in the first place. He liked danger best when it came in the shape of a woman and the pinpricks of former needles were visible between her fingers when she shook Dean’s hand. 

This one didn’t look at Sam at all. She was solely focused on what was his, and he wondered if he could get away with gutting her right here. Would the barkeep—he was down at the other end flirting with some girls who, like Sam, were far too young to be in a place like this—even notice her intestines resting on a bar stool as she bled out on his floor? The way the bartender twirled the hair of the tall, blonde one around his index finger said no.

Her rough voice brought his thoughts back to where he was standing. “What brings you in here, sugar?” She was talking only to Dean still; the “you” very inherently singular.

“Just hanging out with my brother, looking for a good time,” he said with a nod in Sam’s direction and she still didn’t look. Bitch.

“Shame he’s with you. You and I could have had some fun.” He’d be lying if he said his fingers didn’t twitch toward the knife he had tucked in the waistband of his pants. With the way Dean was licking his lips and letting his eyes fall hooded, Sam almost thought that he was going to take her up on the offer. No one got to take Dean away from him.

“I’m much more fun with him than without, trust me.” He hadn’t been expecting Dean’s arm to slide around his lower back, fingers digging into what little flesh he had on his hips. Wished they were fuller for Dean to really grab, but he always said they were beautiful.

She looked at him this time, eyes tracking the length of him, trying to figure out how old he was. That was always what they were concerned about. “Ain’t he a little young to be in here?”

“Well, the ID says he’s 21, and that’s enough for the bartender. He’s 19, though, but that’s still old enough for you, right?” Had Dean said 18, she’d have known it was a lie, but she still eyed him questioningly. “C’mon, let me buy us all a round and we’ll see how it goes.”

Turning and yelling to the bartender for three tequilas and a salt shaker was her way of agreeing.

The first shot went down rough for all of them. It was the lowest shelf tequila imaginable, but that was more likely to work in their favor. They were used to this—didn’t have the money to spend on anything but shitty alcohol—and they had to hope that she wasn’t quite as adjusted. They ordered another round promptly, as if knocking back more would wash the vile taste from their mouths. It didn’t.

Sam’s head was beginning to buzz just the slightest, but that wasn’t why her words were starting to slur. They might be able to convince her out of here after a little while longer. Had to make sure she was more than willing before asking, or else their plan was shot for the night, and he didn’t want to make Dean wait longer than he had to. The added bonus of making her pay for ignoring him was also enticing.

“Next one I’m taking off your neck,” Dean said, laughing, pointing to her with the salt shaker.

The bitch laughed, too, tilting her head to the side, opening the expanse of her pale neck. He could almost see her pulse thrumming against pulled-taut skin and Sam knew he needed just as bad as his brother this time.

When Dean licked her neck and sprinkled the salt over her skin, Sam took the time to smile at her. She was paying him some attention because her mouth ticked up in the faintest smirk—they had her. Dean just needed to get her out of the bar. He licked the salt off of her neck and tossed the shot down with ease. He never used a lime—a weird quirk that Sam didn’t understand. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” A wink and that crooked smile of his had her laughing.

“Now you have to do one off of him. And you can’t say no!” She was becoming a more enjoyable person by society’s standards as the alcohol started soaking her neurons. 

“What makes you think I’d say no?” Dean countered. “Didn’t I tell you I was more fun with him?”

One of those strong, hard-worked hands was in his hair, cradling the back of his head, opening his neck to a pair of lips and a tongue that he was well-accustomed to. Sam gasped as the wet heat burned like a brand. Dean was making him all slick—both his neck and the tip of his dick—but he took the moment to salt his skin before he dove back in. His older brother had all the salt in one lick, but his oral fixation wouldn’t let him leave Sam’s neck immediately. It took a tap to his wrist to get Dean off of him and to swallow down the shot.

“Well, that was something.” The brunette was fanning herself in jest before she laughed and downed her shot. “You sure you’re brothers?”

They both nodded and before Dean opened his mouth, Sam knew this was the entrance they had been waiting for. If they hadn’t been so sure she’d say yes, that she’d leave with them, it could have gone very wrong, but she was curious.

“Do you want to see what else we’re willing to do together? We could go back to our room and show you?” Dean’s smile was wicked and charming, and they were settling their tabs quick. 

The walk back to their motel was slow-going, Dean often having to stop their forward progress when his toy would push him up against a wall and shove her tongue down his throat. Even Dean was impatient tonight, trying to gently push her away without making her seem unwanted. He needed her, just not like this.

“What, you scared to make out in public?” She teased with a light smack to his chest. Dean didn't need to reply when she faked a heavy sigh, still grinning, and continued to pull him in the direction they'd been going.

When all three of them got inside their room, Sam went to take his normal post on the other bed, but the girl tsked when he sat down away from Dean. “Thought you two were going to show me what else you get up to together?” Of course, now he had her interest when he didn't really care for it.

“Yeah, Sammy. I mean, we told her we would. Unless… you don't love me anymore.” Sonofabitch even had the gall to screw his face into a mock pout and it flipped that switch Sam had been keeping in control all night. It was sheer aggression, the way he climbed into Dean's lap, pushed his back flat on the bed and claimed his mouth with teeth, tongue, and fire. His fingers wormed their way into his older brother’s hair and pulled sharply, making Dean hiss at the pain that inevitably went straight to his cock.

Sam was always in control—of the situation, of these girls they lured, of Dean.

It made him feel at ease.

Breaking the kiss, he looked over to their guest who was holding her weight up by resting against the wall, eyes wide, mouth the same.

“Holy shit.” The words were barely breathed, but they traveled the space of the small room.

Had she been paying close enough attention, she would have seen the danger flicker through his hazel eyes, but she was fixated on Dean. Of course. The man was panting below him, need climbing now that he was hard and they had her here. It was an annoyance, but Sam knew this was the time to back off.

“You want him?” She didn’t say yes, didn’t nod, but Sam rolled off of his brother. “He’s yours.”

He almost expected hesitance with her approach, but she was on Dean moments later, sucking Sam’s taste off of his lips. Watching her pull his hair, biting into his lower lip—she wouldn’t be able to get the same reaction he did, but she couldn’t know that. Dean groaned into her mouth as his arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her off balance so that he could rub his dick between her spread legs.

She was moaning now too—a horrible noise that was high pitched and whining. Faked. She was hot for it, that much was true, but her speaking voice was too low for the sound to be genuine. Thankfully, Dean leaned up and licked into her mouth, effectively silencing her.

They didn’t wait much longer for pants to come off, both of their shoes kicked haphazardly away, shirts neglected and left on. Sam should have been more interested in watching the show, but his palms were tingling with the need to feel a knife in his hand. This one, this bitch who ignored him most of the night, he knew what he was going to do to her the second she started talking. But he had to wait until Dean was ready for it. He wasn’t going to take this away from his brother.

Dean still took the time to roll on a condom, even though she was more than ready to impale herself on his cock without one. That was one of Sam’s rules—he needed to make sure that he was clean. Wasn’t going to risk his brother’s health for a fling. 

There was nothing slow, easy, or kind about the way they fucked, and he could only hope that Dean would save some of that for him later. With her now underneath his weight and a hand fisted in her hair, her neck was held wide open, almost as if he was making a suggestion on the way Sam should take her. He had already quietly pulled his tools from their nightstand drawer and placed them on top, so subtle in his movements that she wouldn’t notice.

As much as he didn’t want to watch this particular coupling, Sam forced his eyes to stay on the pair. This was about taking care of Dean and he had to pay attention for the moment when he would start to lose control. He’d never let his older brother spiral out before and he wasn’t about to start.

Again with her god-awful moans, and it was an honest relief that Dean’s eyes were pleading at him. The work would have to be quick, but he could manage. There was no reason right now for her not to trust him.

The first task was easy—she allowed Sam to slip the ring gag into her mouth when he showed it to her, lips forced wide around it, the circle larger in her mouth than his. This was the last time he’d be using this particular gag. She was quick to lift her head and allow him to fasten the strap.

A whimper made him raise his glance; he was met with wide eyes and teeth dug into plush lower lip. “Sam, please.” There was that whine again at the end of the word.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok. Just hang in there for a couple more minutes, ok?”

Dean nodded, kept thrusting, the girl looked confused, and Sam reached for everything remaining on the nightstand. Duct tape. A shitty little pair of kitchen tongs. His knife. The brunette would start screaming in a matter of seconds as she started to piece things together, but it wouldn’t matter. The manager for this particular shithole motel didn’t live on site as they learned early, and none of the other patrons would likely be willing to come check. They’d be gone before the cops got there.

Predictably, the screaming started when she saw the light glinting from his right hand, but it was harder to scream when her tongue was being pulled through the ring, taught and slimy, and he wanted it gone.

The cut wasn’t precise or clean, but it was quick enough and effective. With three slices, he was able to retract the tongs from her gaping mouth, pulling a thick portion of her tongue with it. The knife didn’t fit enough to cut it at the very base, but he got enough. Tossing away tongs and tongue, he snicked the edge of the blade through one side of the strap, removing the gag. 

Dean’s hands still held her head in place, making it easier to force her mouth closed with the tape. Four wide strips did the trick, the first three securing her mouth closed, another to cover her nose. Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears as her throat worked to get that burning copper down. He knew the taste well. What was it that movie said? _You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick._

It was more likely that her body would force the bitch to breathe before it got to the point where she couldn’t stomach any more. Instinct and need would force her to take a bloody breath and she’d drown, suffocated on her own life force. If Sam wasn’t so focused on his brother, maybe he would have felt a little giddy about his ingenuity.

Dean needed a different kind of help than he had before. Before, he just needed her to die, needed to come. Now, he was frantic, overwhelmed, about to fall completely apart. He needed Sam.

“Hey, hey, focus here, on me.” He snapped his fingers in front of Dean’s eyes to bring his attention back as his punishing pace grew ragged and he wheezed with exertion. “You gotta calm down a little or you’re going to stroke out before she’s gone. You don’t want to miss this, do you?”

He shook his head, a sweat bead dripping off his nose and hitting her cheek. She thrashed and it didn’t matter beneath his strength. “Can’t, Sammy. God, _FUCK_!”

“I’ve got you. Just dial it back.” From above her head, he didn’t have access to Dean’s hips like he normally would have. Never to grab, no, just to ease him with the knowledge that he was physically present. Instead, one hand stayed on Dean’s freckled shoulder, fingertips grazing the taut muscles in his neck, while the other slid beneath him, supporting and drumming out a counter-rhythm to the thudding in his chest. Sam would never let anything happen to him.

Just a minute more and the brunette heaved a stalled breath, coughing and spluttering behind the tape seal of her mouth. Again and again, but she couldn’t get anything but her own blood coating the inside of her lungs. She struggled for a while still, pulling against both of their holds. He was seconds away from adding another wound to finish this when she stopped.

“Shit, that's it. Sam, she's almost there.”

“That’s it. Wanna see you come.”

Hips snapped forward hard once more and violent tremors shook through Dean as his cock pulsed out those thick strands that Sam had covering his face more times than he can remember. His entire body was shaking from the force of his orgasm—one of the few times it had been like this without being intentional—and Sam knew he had to help.

The girl was dead, so there was no reason for him to continue holding her in place. Crawling off of her and coming behind Dean, he tucked the entire length of his body around his older brother. Back to chest, one arm wrapped around that trim waist, the other pressed to the bed, supporting most of his own weight. “Right here, De. ‘M right here,” he murmured against sweaty shoulder blades as Dean continued to shake.

He was still pulsing into her, the muscles of his lower belly contracting. It hadn’t gone on this long before. Dean was panting and whining and still shaking something terrible—chances are already oversensitive, but he was stubborn and wasn’t about to pull his cock out until he was done.

It was hard to tell if it would be helpful with the state he was in, but Sam worked a hand between his brother’s legs and gently massaged his balls that were still drawn up tight. It earned him another painful twitch and a whine that turned into a sob, but Dean started to settle after that. He was still trembling as Sam had to pull him out of her and guide him down onto the mattress.

Green eyes were clamped shut tight, but tears still prickled and tracked from them, only to be quickly wiped away by Sam’s free hand, the other tight around Dean’s back. Until he was told otherwise, Sam was going to hold him close and hope the proximity would ease the shaking. They could take the couple of minutes to stabilize Dean before they had to take off.

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips pressed against his older brother’s forehead. “Didn’t mean for it to get that out of hand.”

He wasn’t expecting a response, startling when Dean whispered back a slurred, “‘S ok. Gimme five minutes.”

“More than five if you need it.”

Only one passed before he swallowed and spoke with a shaky voice. “I’m good if you wanna get the lighter fluid. I’ll get dressed when you get back.”

Sam slid off the bed after pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. As always, the woman’s clothes were scattered and he gathered them up and placed them on the bed next to her.

With his eyes closed, Dean didn’t see Sam exiting the room with her boots gripped tightly in his hands.


	3. Red Pleated Skirt

The redhead was from Nebraska originally, but they found her in Michigan. She was as traditional as they came, with her proper farmgirl upbringing in a middle-of-nowhere town. Demure and kind, even to strangers, smart and funny—it was no wonder Dean took a liking to her. She was genuine, something they didn't see often. Most times these women put on a show for them. A variation on their personality that was calculated to entice the Winchester boys, and wasn’t that what Dean and him were doing, too?

It was different with her, though. When she spoke, Dean didn’t just nod along, but actively heard and replied to her words. Connecting like this with a target had happened once or twice before, but they hadn’t been _her_. Charming. Real. The one they’d want to take home to their mother’s house for Christmas, if she had still been around.

“So, what do you do for a livin’ or are you both still in school?” This little redhead was the first who had ever addressed both Winchester boys in the same sentence.

Sam knew to let Dean take the lead. Usually he would concoct a lie that was just on the right side of believable to make them interesting, but wouldn’t make anyone suspicious. He was surprised when Dean replied, “We’re, uh… between jobs right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said with a small wrinkle of a frown. “It must be tough.”

“It’s not so bad.” Sam shrugged a bony shoulder and shot his brother the type of love-riddled smile normally reserved for their bed. It was returned in kind and the woman didn’t question. “Dean takes good care of me.”

“That’s so sweet. He seems like a great big brother.” She grinned wide enough to show teeth, perfect, straight, and white. Still sincere.

“Yeah, he is.” 

Her phone chimed from its resting spot aside her drink and she flipped it over, swiping a few words across the screen before placing it face down again. “Sorry, was just my dad. Sometimes he gets a little worried when he sees that I’m going out to a bar.”

“Do you live with him?” If she needed to be home by a certain time, it would put them under stress to get in and get out before anyone alerted authorities that she might be missing. It wasn’t ideal, but it happened. Sam wanted to be able to take his time with her.

The slight curls in her hair swung around her face as she shook her head. “No, he just diligently keeps up with my status updates. They’re still back in Nebraska, but after they got the upgraded WiFi this year, both him and my mom are online a lot.”

“Ah, got it.”

“What about your parents? Are they from around here?”

Sam put the beer bottle to his lips to avoid answering. What would Dean say to her?

“Nah, our mom died when we were both little and our dad, well… he’s dead, too. More recent—just a couple years ago. It was an accident.”

Whatever Sam had been expecting, it wasn’t that. A fabricated story, yes. Both parents still alive, happily married in West Palm Beach or divorced but remarried. Not the truth.

“Wow, that’s awful. I—I’m so sorry.” Her brow was furrowed, lips pursed as she took a sip of her drink.

“It’s ok, I think. He wasn’t too fond of having kids in tow, anyway.” Dean clinked his beer bottle to hers and they both drank. “We traveled a lot.”

She nodded. “Did he ever talk of settling down?”

“Hell no. John loved the road too much. Was the only thing that kept him sane without Mom around.”

“I’m sure he loved you, too.”

Sam scoffed before he realized he was going to. “I wish I could say that were true. Dean’s right, though.”

“Course I am,” he said, laughing and nudging Sam a little sideways on his barstool.

She was picking at the label on her beer bottle while she listened.“So, I apologize if this is really forward. I don’t do this often, but would you guys want to get out of here? Maybe go drink some more and… talk for a while?”

For a split second, he almost broke his own rule and told her that it was getting late and they should all head their separate ways, but he couldn’t. They had talked about their family. Dean had used their dad’s real name. None of the other women were allowed that. Dean _cared_ about this one, enough to bring her just the slightest bit into their world. It meant so much, but she couldn’t leave knowing such personal information about them.

The least he could do was to make this nice for her, too. As nice as dying at the hands of a sixteen-year-old who would do anything his older brother asked could possibly be.

Dean had already replied, likely in the affirmative since they were working on getting the bartender’s attention, and it was only five minutes before they were heading toward the door. She—Jillian, if he remembered correctly—was happy to follow them back to their motel room, with the answer of “my place is such a mess right now, I don’t think more than one person would be able to fit in there.”

All three shrugged off their coats once inside the door that creaked open ominously, and Sam almost laughed. He hadn’t noticed the sound before, but how fucking appropriate. Poor thing had no idea what house of horrors she was walking into.

Nothing about this was going to go as expected and it was something they were both just going to have to work with. Dean had positioned himself on the end of the bed after kicking off his shoes, but there was no other shedding of clothes. The girl had abandoned her heels by the doorway, but didn't join Dean on the bed. No, she slid her fingers between Sam’s and held his one hand in both of her’s.

“You're not going to be left out. I won't let that happen. I know that's what you're afraid of, isn't it?”

If there was any piece of him that was capable of loving someone other than Dean, it might have been her.

She was smiling at him, softly, like this was their secret, and he was speechless. He wasn't searching for an answer to her question because it didn't need one. Being left out—worse, being left _behind_ —scared him more than being caught.

Neither Winchester could have known the next words that bubbled out of his lips would be, “My name is Sam.”

Her face brightened and she chuckled. “I knew you didn't look like a Billy. Come on, Sam. Do you want to lay down with us for a while?”

He tugged her over to the bed, led by their still-entwined fingers. The three of them climbed closer to the headboard, falling together in a pile of limbs that was honestly too comfortable for him. She was between them, her head on Dean's shoulder, Sam pressed to her back with his arm over her stomach. Everything about her was trying to knock his guard down and Sam almost let it happen.

Dean's fingers trailed over her skirt—a little red thing, something that should have clashed garishly with her hair, but managed to pass. “This is cute. I like the way it looks.”

“I think Sam likes it, too.” A slight roll of her hips pressed her ass against the erection that he hadn't noticed thickening between them, forcing him to gasp softly into the hair at the back of her neck where her skin was exposed. He wanted to hide in it if she'd allow. 

“Does he now?” A hand, definitely Dean's, started at his hip and slid over the zipper of his jeans to rub firm. “Jeez, Sam. That's a pretty impressive cock you've been hiding.”

A sharp squeeze, just a brief edge of pain that he loved, stole the breath he was going to use to play along. If the two of them kept up, he wasn't going to be able to speak the rest of the night, and maybe that was for the best.

The soft smack of lips against skin made him open his eyes—she was mouthing at Dean's neck. He should have been jealous that they weren't his lips and his tongue against that freckled skin, but he couldn't bring himself to be.

She pulled away with a small hum. “Don't pretend you haven't seen his dick. I know what brothers like you get up to,” she murmured against his jawline before giving a sharp nip that made him whimper. Teeth always were a weakness of Dean's.

“And how would you know that?”

“Sisters do it, too.”

“Jesus Christ, are you tellin' me—”

Another nip, this time at his earlobe cut him off. “Are you surprised?”

“Very.”

“You made the mistake in assuming I was innocent.”

“Shame on me,” Dean said before leaning down to cover her mouth with his. Part of Sam wanted to watch while the other part, the one that won him over, let his mouth fall to the curve of shoulder into neck, sucking light bruises into her skin.

His brother’s hand had moved from touching his cock to gripping tight to one of her bare ass cheeks that had been hiding beneath her now flipped up skirt. A thong. Sam had pictured a pair of daisy-patterned cotton panties for a girl like this, even with a skirt of a short nature. This Jill was getting more interesting by the minute.

She hummed into Dean’s mouth—Sam could feel it against his chest more than he could hear a noise—as his own hand slid down between her legs. He was met with that silky wetness he always wished his own body could produce. Wouldn’t it be so much easier? With his constant desire for Dean, he’d be open and ready whenever his brother wanted. No more planning or waiting or wishing. They could have everything.

“You like this toy, Sammy? I haven’t seen you interested in one before.”

The nod was more bashful than he intended. “Is that ok?”

“Yeah, ‘course it is. Always willing to share.” Dean’s eyes had softened, a look he often got in bed when they were alone and maybe they were this time, too. Maybe the girl between them was special because she was just an acting extension of themselves. A conduit for their affection to flow through. Fucked up and perfect.

Jill must have said something—he needed to stop zoning out and remember that there were still things that needed to happen—and they were both laughing and detangling themselves, trying to reposition against the headboard.

With his back propped against it, Dean spread his legs, allowing her to slide between them. Once she was settled with his chest firmly against her back, Sam watched those big hands dig down between her thighs, pulling them wide and keeping them hooked open with his knees. The underwear was barely a thought, a mere scrap of fabric that, at this angle, hid next to nothing.

Fingers pressed into the already pale skin of her inner thigh, making it whiter still while the other slid under her panties, thumb grazing across her clit. She moaned and Sam’s cock jumped where it was still caged in his jeans. It was deeper and breathy and fuck, if she hadn't just sounded close to Dean.

His brother’s eyes were wide when Sam caught his gaze—did he hear it, too, or was he just excited about the prospect that he was going to get to see Sam with someone else for the first time? 

Regardless, those fingers he’d long ago memorized the callouses of were pulling the material aside, letting him look at her pussy. She was wet, and to be honest, Sam didn’t know what to do right now. There were choices, but this wasn’t about him. What did Dean need? He licked his lips in thought, and he shouldn’t have been staring as intensely as he was at the pink folds between her legs.

“Hey,” Dean said, drawing his eyes back up to their faces. She was biting her lower lip, a predictable enticement that had never worked on him, and it was the first time that Sam’d been unimpressed by her. “Why don’t you show her how gentle you were the first time I let you eat me out?”

Flat on his stomach left his cock trapped, feeling close to pain inside his jeans, but he would deal. Sam was gentle, the tip of his tongue barely tracing her clit. It wasn't long of his constant motion before she started squirming, trying to get him to do more, but Dean held her in place.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby boy. This is what he did to me for damn near an hour.” A glance up allowed him to see the way Dean's tongue was flicking over the shell of her ear. “Can you imagine what an hour of this would be like? I bet he could make you come a few times just from this. I was about to beg for him to stop. Just not enough to get there, you know? And then—”

Tying right into Dean's story, he slid lower and pressed his tongue inside. God, she’d gotten so fucking wet in the matter of minutes he’d been teasing her. She was wet before, but not enough that his chin was going to be dripping with it. He liked it better when it was his own spit covering him from the hours tonguing his brother’s ass on the rare occasions that he let Sam spend that long.

She was moaning, gripping at his hair and urging him to go deeper, like he wasn’t already buried inside of her. It took another minute of letting her fuck herself on his tongue before she released him enough to move away.

“Fuck, you really drenched the poor kid.” Dean chuckled when Sam sat up enough for him to see the mess she’d made of him. “C’mere. I want a taste.”

Leaning over her shoulder, Sam licked into the mouth that was always waiting for him, and he almost rolled his eyes when all three of them moaned at the same time. He wasn’t going to be the one to pull back from Dean's mouth,though, no. His mouth was home, and while it wasn’t a rarity for them to kiss, it was something he promised never to take for granted.

Dean finally separated them, licking spit and the remainder of her dripping pussy from his lips like it was his job to be obscene. “Will you fuck her for me, Sammy? Right here, right like this.” He pulled her legs wider still and Sam nodded. As long as he was still in range of Dean’s mouth, he’d do anything.

“Did you bring two condoms?” he asked. Dean kept only one in his wallet at a time, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the only one fucking her tonight. Dean had been looking rough for the past few days until Sam told him it was time.

“What’dya say, darling? You on the pill?” She nodded, but it was obvious there were still questions running through her head. “Would you let my little brother get off first and then let me fuck his come back into you?”

Their curses were simultaneous.

“Jesus, Dean, you can’t just say shit like that.” Even so, Sam was still working to undo his fly and tug pants and boxers down enough to get his cock free. It ached and had been starting to chafe, but he was still closer to coming than moments before. 

“I don’t see it being a problem.”

His hands on her hips held her still as Sam sunk inside of her. She was warm and slick and different than Dean, but it wasn’t bad. Definitely enough that he could get off, especially with his brother muttering more dirty thoughts against Sam’s lips. Little musings of, “one day I’ll get someone to do this to you,” which was followed with a growl, and “can’t wait to feel you inside of her.”

This was one of the few times that Dean took control away from him. Sam was in charge of the kills and looking out for the both of them when Dean was more than just a little bit reckless, but here, with quick shallow thrusts that were getting him there faster than he should have, he was not in a position of power.

“Fuck, oh god, please?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but if he was going to let Dean call some of the shots, he might as well let him have this one.

“You asking to come, little brother? You there already?”

“He looks like it,” she said with a moan from between them. A hand—hers, too soft to be Dean’s—brushed across his cheek. “Going a little starry-eyed there.”

“Shut up, no I'm not.” Sam grunted as his next few thrusts pounded as deep as he could into her, effectively cutting off her retort.

“A bit, yeah.” Dean’s hand was on his hip now, fingers slick—how hadn’t he noticed?—and god, god, if it was going where he thought it was, this was really going to be over for him. “Why don’t we get you off so I can have a turn?”

It was a stretch for him to get there, but two rough fingertips rubbed over Sam’s hole, easing him to relax and open. They had learned that he would come just from that more times than not, but he’d be damned if he was going to give Dean the satisfaction this time.

Sam’s doubt that he'd be able to make it until he was stretched two wide was confirmed when his brother’s middle finger slid second-knuckle deep and he started to clench around the intrusion. It wasn’t even enough to brush his prostate, but it tipped him over the edge, his cock pulsing out his release in time with Dean’s finger working into him.

“God, does he always look this beautiful when he comes?”

“Sometimes more.” 

He couldn’t tell if Dean was genuine or mocking, but his shuddered out, “Fuck you, guys,” was a good enough retaliation. It didn't take long for him to calm afterwards, but he left his softening cock inside of her, keeping her plugged up like he was told. “You going to get in on this, Dean, or should I just pull out and let her make a mess on the sheets while you think up a plan?”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Sweetheart.” It was obviously directed at her. “You wanna ride me?”

She nodded and flipped over when Sam pulled out, seating herself fully on Dean’s dick. She was shivering as she rocked herself just enough to get a feel for it. “You’re massive, holy hell.”

“Not that big, just the angle,” he said and laughed when he rolled his hips up into her and she moaned.

If his orgasm had been stronger, Sam would have had to wait a minute to catch his breath, get his thoughts in order before moving toward the nightstand. He should have been more concerned about her seeing the knife that he pulled out, but he couldn’t care. Dean had been rutting against her back while he was taking his turn, so this wouldn’t take long. 

He kneed his way back onto the bed behind her, and even if Dean had wanted him to wait, that wasn’t happening this time. He’d fucked them after they were more than a few minutes dead and he could do the same again if he wasn’t ready. Sam could feel almost every inch of his skin itching, needing to be soothed with something other than a scratch.

It was as fast as a blink—the knife was across the width of her neck, slicing through the skin with next to zero resistance. Sam couldn’t see the whole image, merely some blood from the very edge of the wound, but Dean was wide-eyed and panting. Her sputtered attempt at noise was echoed in Dean's choked off words, and there wasn't anything quite as beautiful as seeing the eldest Winchester speechless.

The knife was tossed aside quickly, hands taking occupancy on her shoulders, pulling her weight just a tinge backwards to his chest. She fought for a moment, but her strength wasn’t enough and the pain too much for her to keep it up. Sam had been right. She wasn’t like the others. No one gave up so easily. Something in her had been ready to die since the moment she first spoke to them in the bar. He would never know if she was aware of this or not, but the curiosity would fade in time.

With her positioned this way, Sam had an unobstructed view of where his brother’s dick disappeared into her. The blood was starting to pool on his hips and lower stomach, her torso slicked and messy with it. Some of it had wormed its way under the thumbnails that were pressed into her waist, lifting her heavying weight before pulling it back down.

Sam hadn’t known he was going to taste her until his mouth was filled with copper and Dean was moaning at the sight.

“Jesus, that’s not fair.”

“Why, you want a taste?” The way he licked his lips was what made Dean whimper, purposefully smearing blood around more than he was cleaning it up. “She’s not half bad in that drugstore-red-wine kind of way.”

He nodded, but Sam countered with a shake of his own head.

“Not yet. You can taste her when you’re done. When she’s nothing more than the cooling body you fucked full.”

Another whine as Sam placed his lips once again against the opening of her neck, the barest trickle still leaving. Almost there.

“That the both of us have fucked full, right?” The words were murmured against her neck as her head flopped onto his shoulder. “Imagine how good that's gonna taste, big brother. Her blood, your come, and mine.”

It was the first time that Dean had gotten off before the fluttering of weak heartbeats stopped.

Soundless moans and nails scratching deep into the skin of her thighs. Nothing had ever looked like that. Even the fucking Mona Lisa was nothing in comparison to Dean Winchester.

Sam hauled her now-dead weight from Dean’s dick, making his brother wide-eyed with wonder at the strength he held in his slight frame. The way he laid her down was less than graceful, but he arranged her on her back with legs spread. Without so much as a word, Dean buried his face between them, lapping and tonguing out every salty drop the two of them had left inside of her. Sam was more than content to watch, not wanting to rush him along. They had the time and he wasn’t going to take this from him.

After getting them both dressed, he had to guide Dean out to the car with an arm around his waist and get him situated in the passenger seat before returning to enjoy those briefs moments of heat and smoke. Returning to the car after getting a good blaze going, he popped the trunk and shoved her red skirt into the depths of his bag.


	4. Pink Satin Panties

Impatience was one of his biggest flaws and Sam knew it. He'd been planning this for weeks, but Dean wasn’t in good shape for it tonight. He was tired and dragging himself into a new motel room after the three hours of driving that got them out of town. Dean had already been sleeping in the car, utterly exhausted from before, while Sam drove—he should be ready to crash out and sleep.

But no, he was wired. He carried their bags into the new room in a new city in a new state, and Dean barely got himself inside.

“I'm gonna sleep for two weeks,” he muttered, trudging over to the bed closest to the door.

Sam let one of the bags drop to put his hand on Dean's waist as he passed. “Why don't you get a shower first, hmm? Then bed. You'll hate yourself if you wake up with dried blood on your stomach.”

His older brother shrugged. “No worse than dried come. Flakes off a little easier, too.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t even look at him. Sam was still in control of him and after three beats of silence, Dean steered his direction toward the bathroom, mumbling something about not giving a shit.

There was the sound of clothes hitting the tile floor before the water began beating against the bottom of the tub. Through the closed door, Sam could still hear the groan as Dean stepped under the spray, heat melting away the remaining tension in his body.

Should he wait until they had both rested to give Dean his surprise? Would the shower give him a burst of energy to be able to enjoy what Sam had done for him? The concern was mostly about his mental state—Dean’s dick never had a problem getting up for any sort of stimulus.

If he hadn’t felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin with need, he would have waited, but there was a clawing in his gut that refused to be ignored. He’d been collecting his prizes for too long now and he needed them both to see the finished product.

Digging blind into the bottom of his bag, his hands removed one by one the items that he’d saved. One. Two. Three. Four. Sam knew he could take his time putting everything on—Dean never took fast showers—but his hands were trembling and it needed to be now. He wasn’t graceful as he stumbled into each piece of clothing, even though he should have been careful with some of the more fragile pieces. Women’s clothes were delicate in a way that Sam could only wish he was.

When it came down to tugging the shoes on, he was surprised to find they fit well enough. They were only a little tight and he wouldn’t be keeping them on all that long anyway. He hadn’t tried them on before now and he suspected that they might be too small to wear. It would have been disappointing not to have, but the rest of the outfit was enough without them.

The water shut off as Sam settled himself on the edge of the bed, leaning back just a touch onto his palms. He felt even thinner like this, with the tank top clinging to his torso and the skirt settled too far down on his hips. It felt good like this. It felt right to have pieces of them left even after they were reduced to ash and dust.

Dean came out of the steaming bathroom, barely patted dry with a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes fell to his little brother’s position and he made it less than four steps before stopping, his breath catching in the back of his throat. God, what Sam wouldn’t give to be inside that brain right now. To be able to curl up inside that warmth, inside the being that was everything to him—now that would be something else.

“Jesus, Sammy, wha—?” 

“Do you like it?” He stood from the bed, swishing his hips a little to make the skirt move. “I do. I think it’s pretty. It fits well.” He didn’t get a reply and couldn’t help crossing the room and crowding into his brother’s space, making him look. The dampness of Dean’s torso was seeping into the thin material of his tank top, and Sam knew that look was the one when Dean wanted to latch onto his tiny tits and suck like he could get milk out of them.

Towel ignored, his hands moved up to trace along Sam’s sides. “Fucking beautiful. You did this for me?”

Sam nodded. “Mostly. But I do enjoy the freedom of a skirt.”

“What, um—” His eyes were everywhere, back and forth over face, chest, as far down as he could see without pulling Sam away from his body. “—uh, can I—”

“Please?” He wasn’t sure why, but his voice went soft and needy in that moment where he should have still been in control. “I want you to fuck me, Dean.”

He barely saw the movement, but there was an arm wrapped tight around his waist, a hand threaded into his hair and Dean’s tongue wrestling it’s way into his mouth. The kiss changed from one moment to the next—a savage claiming with too much teeth or gentle licking, like Dean was trying to savor the taste of him. Sam couldn’t keep up so he stopped trying, letting him take what he wanted.

The pressure of their bodies was holding the towel in place, so when Dean took a step back from him, breaking the kiss, the towel fell to the floor. He was more than halfway hard already.

“Bed, now, please.” Dean sounded as breathless as Sam felt.

“On my knees?”

Water fell from his hair as he shook his head. “On your back. Like a pretty little girl.”

Sam shivered—his brother knew how to take care of him best. He retreated until the backs of his knees bumped the mattress, and he laid across it, letting Dean really look at him and what he was wearing. Even when his brother sat next to him, a hand playing against the lace edge of the shirt where it had pulled up to expose Sam’s flat stomach, he didn’t see the recognition he needed. He didn’t want to prompt him, but he needed Dean to know exactly what this was.

“Does any of this look familiar?” Sam picked at the hem of the skirt, a wicked smile twisting up his face.

There it was. Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. “Sam, is this—?”

He nodded once. The hands that had been possessive, controlling, before were more revering as he kneeled between Sam’s legs and touched each piece of clothing, even running them over the leather of each boot. “Do you like it?” He asked again, the meaning different and the question more cautious.

“Stunning... Even if I didn't know where you got the clothes. God, you should always wear things like this.” His hands wouldn't still and Sam wondered if his plan of being fucked tonight had just backfired on him.

“Dean, I need—”

“Just a little longer, baby boy. I want to keep looking at you like this for just a little longer.”

The lace edge of the tank top was a rough drag as Dean rubbed it against his skin the way he used to put sunscreen on Sam’s shoulders when they were younger—fingers splayed to create more points of contact to light his nerve endings on fire. “That first one of our recent set, right?”

Sam nodded as his only response, his teeth too busy gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The noise that would come out otherwise was undecided on what it wanted to be and he didn’t want to frighten his brother away from this.

“The skirt was Jill’s—I’d never forget that—making the boots from the second? The one you didn’t like.”

Hands were travelling up the inside of his legs—a place they hadn't been yet tonight—and Sam willingly spread his knees to allow those calloused palms to move under the skirt. He wanted Dean to ask, needed him to know what else he'd done. The first three pieces weren’t the only surprise and he needed it to be out in the open.

Confusion colored Dean's expression for a moment before he took in what he was feeling underneath his hand. Softness. Silky. He was rubbing gently against Sam's sack through the fabric and he whined. _Open your mouth, Dean. Ask, ask, ask me what they are._

He flipped the skirt up to get a look. A dusky pink satin that pulled tight across his erection and even he thought it was a good look. “These are cute.” His eyes were predatory and Sam knew he had him. “Which one of our girls did these come from?”

Sam bit his lip. “They didn't. I've had these a long time, before I even knew what I was going to do with them.”

His brow furrowed a little more. “Look kinda familiar.”

“She got too close to you. Didn't listen to me when I told her that you weren't really interested in her. You were just biding your time until I passed your stupid benchmark of an age before you would fuck me. Even then you knew it was only going to be me, but you convinced yourself that we needed to wait.”

“Is this... Sam, holy shit, did you—”

“She wouldn't leave you alone, Dean. What was I supposed to do?”

“You killed her?”

“Drowned her in her own bathtub then buried her out in the woods. Rhonda fucking Hurley.” The curt laugh was out of his mouth before he knew it was coming. “What a bitch.” His lips pulled back over his teeth with the same disdain he always felt toward her.

“You were just—shit, Sam. You were just a kid.”

“You seem to forget I'm technically still ‘just a kid.’ I think you underestimate me.”

Dean was speechless, his hand stalled over top of the bulge of his little brother's cock inside Rhonda's panties. He'd washed them plenty since he stole them months before—didn't want her smell anywhere close to him.

He could see Dean's thoughts forming, ready to come out, words like “my god, Sammy,” and “I'm so fucking sorry” clinging to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. Didn't want to say them, but didn't see a choice otherwise. 

Sam didn't want him to be sorry. That wasn't what this was about.

With his hand resting atop Dean's, he rolled his hips up into his brother's palm, forcing their fingertips to squeeze his clothed erection. “Don't be mad. I couldn't help it. I just got so upset that she thought she was going to keep you.”

Stunned scared turned to lovestruck in Dean's eyes and the difference was so subtle that Sam would have been the only one able to see it. “Could never be mad at you. Just didn't know this all started with her. Because of... because of me.”

It felt odd to smile during a conversation laced with death and guilty admissions, but there it was. “Always been you, Dean.”

Expecting to be swallowed up in a kiss, Sam was startled to feel Dean's lips against his hip bones, right where the skirt barely clung to them. His skin prickled and he could feel his cock pulse out the first bead of slick against the satin. By the time Dean got around to fucking him, he'd be so wet for his big brother. Wet the same way their girls had been.

He spread his legs wider still, making room for Dean to lower his head to suckle at balls already drawn up tight. Spit slicked over the fabric, tongue working none too gently, but it made his cock leak steadily. His own breathy little pants filled the room, high pitched like they would be if he really was what he was emulating. There were days where he would give anything to be Dean’s girl. To have someone think his beauty was worth taking.

Hands under the backs of his thighs pushed Sam’s knees up to his chest, leaving him open and vulnerable. There was no delay in Dean moving further down, tongue and mouth starting an attack on his satin-covered rim. It wasn’t like the times when he would relentlessly tease until Sam was sobbing and Dean would have to restrain him, so he wouldn’t stroke himself off. He was sucking and licking and, god, if he didn’t need to be fucked, he’d let Dean do this until he blew his load.

Sam couldn't help squirming with the friction of the panties against his hole under Dean's tongue as it tried to force it’s way inside him through the barrier. If they weren’t in the way? Fuck, his brother would be making out with his asshole. He whined and the same words came as before. “I need—”

A sharp nip to the inside of his thigh startled away the rest of the thought. “I know what you need. But if this is truly for me, if you want to be my girl, then I get to eat out your pussy for as long as I want.”

There was no argument to that other than a loud moan as Dean went back to work. 

There were times when Sam could hold his orgasm at bay for hours, teetering back and forth on the brink, but keeping himself from it. This was not going to be one of them.

“So close. Shit, if y-you keep— _nngh_ —doing that I’m gonna…” His hips rocked into another swipe of tongue. “I’m gonna come.”

He pulled just far enough away to speak, lips still ghosting over the soaked patch of fabric between Sam’s spread cheeks. “Wanna see you make a mess of yourself. Pretty like this, coming so quickly in your underwear because you love being eaten out.”

“Oh god, Dean, please.” It was building fast, low in his belly. Dean had already pulled him too far over, but two fingers hooked the panties aside and his tongue shoved inside his hole and that was it. 

“ _Dean_! Dean, fuck, oh fuck!” Sam reached between his spread legs to grip the older boy's short hair, hips grinding down as if he could get him any further inside. The head of his cock was wet and warm as each pulse of come surrounded him inside the satin. By the third pulse, there was too much and it started sliding down his shaft. Warm, so warm, but it made him shiver.

Lips were on his, tongue licking into his mouth, and when had he closed his eyes? When had Dean pulled out? Why did he like the taste of himself on his brother's tongue so fucking much?

“Beautiful.”

“Really?” 

“You're so good to me, Sammy. I can't begin to tell you what this means. You've made yourself a trophy for me, baby.”

All the attention and admiration was making Sam's skin prickle with pride. “All yours.”

Dean pushed himself back down to kneeling between his legs. “If you're all mine, can I see this, then?” One finger traced against the still-hard line of his cock, come squelching and shifting with the pressure.

He didn't reply, but pulled the front of the panties down for Dean to see milky fluid coating him, sticking thick to the head and the sparse hair at the base of his cock. Both of them were breathless.

“Fuck, get them all the way off—now. Need to get you prepped.” Eyes were darting around the room. “Where's the fucking lube?”

Sam's voice was soft. “Use my come.”

“Holy shit.” Dean growled and gripped himself tight at the base. It had escaped Sam's notice until now, but he was hard and leaking. “I will, I promise, but it's not gonna be enough to get you stretched and ready.”

“Don't care,” Sam said and rolled his hips to draw Dean back to where he needed him. “Want to feel it. You got enough spit in there earlier and it's not like you've never fucked me dry before.”

“But I... wanna make this good for my girl.”

He whimpered and almost gave in, but this was how it was supposed to be. “No, need you to take me now, Dean.” With the charm amped up and a bat of his eyelashes, all it took was a whispered, “Please, mister?”

They were both scrabbling to get further up on the bed and within seconds Dean was swiping the come from the tip of his dick and sliding those two fingers inside his hole. The stretched burned, but it was soothed some as fingertips gently worked his come around, trying to slick up what he could.

It was just a couple times of removing them to scoop up more of the cooling substance before he was as ready as Dean could get him. There was no more hesitation as he held Sam's knees open and lined up, barely pushing inside. The intrusion was as gentle as Dean could make it—slow, giving Sam time to adjust to each new inch. The edge of pain was still present, but Dean was wet enough to help ease some of it.

Both moaned as Dean faltered and pushed the last few inches in too fast. Fuck, it hurt, and he loved it. A new bead of precome pulsed out of the slit, his erection not having flagged. “Move, please.”

There was no arguing. Halfway out, then in again had Sam's back arching. The full stroke was better, worse, too much. Being damn-near dry like this let him feel every inch of Dean's cock rubbing along his insides and it ached all the way up to his chest. 

“That what you wanted?” he asked, thrusts coming faster, the head of his cock brushing just shy of where Sam could come without his own hands. However this ended up happening, he was just thrilled that it was.

Nodding was what he could manage for the moment. He was getting slowly closer to coming again even though his rim felt like it was on fucking fire. Pain was always such a complicated experience. His chest heaved in breaths that still fell short of keeping the oxygen flowing to his brain. “God... good.”

Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice without opening his eyes to look. Damn, he just couldn't keep them open. “Love you like this. So _needy_.” He accentuated the word with a roll of his hips that was just deep and hard enough to have Sam tossing his head back and moaning. It didn't help that Dean's hand was wrapped around his dick a moment later.

“ _Fuck_! Holy shit, you... you're... _ahh_!”

“I'm gonna make you come again, aren't I? So good for me, Sammy. Need you to make me come too.”

A handful of strokes had him panting through a stronger orgasm than the first one. The twist of Dean's wrist on the upstroke was wringing him dry, hole clenching in time to the peak of the motion. Seconds later, his brother's forehead was pressed against his chest and he could feel pulses of wetness inside him.

They were both slow to come back down, cocks softening. It was his favorite part of being fucked—staying plugged up for as long as he could before Dean inevitably slipped out.

Hearing Dean’s voice this soon afterwards came as a bit of a surprise. “We'll get you new clothes soon, though. I don't want you wearing hand-me-downs anymore, even if they are little victories. You deserve better than that. To have your own pretty things.”

Sam couldn't fight the prickle of tears he felt rising, trying to hide it by burying his head in his brother's neck and whispering, “Thanks, Dean.” So warm, being almost smothered by the weight, but it was perfect. None of their girls got to feel quite like this, but he did. He was goddamned privileged to love Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I promise I don't bite:  
> SPN NSFW Multi-ship sideblog: [wingedwincest.tumblr.com](http://www.wingedwincest.tumblr.com)  
> Main blog: [castielsstarr.tumblr.com](http://www.castielsstarr.tumblr.com)


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